


Fashion Sense

by GooseAndGold



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, but not really in any way at all, ~fashion~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooseAndGold/pseuds/GooseAndGold
Summary: "That could easily be a cover story, brother.”“Right,” Ajay allows gently. “It could be. Hard to know who to trust. But he seemed pretty…sincere.”“Oh? How so?”He huffs a laugh at the memory. “Well he called me ‘Adonis,’ for one thing.”





	Fashion Sense

**Author's Note:**

> This is filling a three-year-old prompt on the Far Cry kinkmeme. Because how else should you spend a Saturday?

“I’ve killed plenty of tigers before,” Ajay continues, sipping from his beer and watching as Sabal marks the map spread out on the table before them. “Although, that's kind of a shitty thing to brag about, when I say it out loud…but what I mean is, I know what it takes to take down a tiger, and that was a fucking _tough_ tiger.”

Sabal glances up, meeting his eye and chuckling, before looking back down at the map. The afternoon sun is filtering in through the open windows in the control tower at the airport. The rays set the dust motes in the air alight, and for a very rare moment, everything feels kind of still. Not peaceful—he wouldn’t go that far, not when every bump he hears makes him twitch with the fear of an ambush—but it’s at least nice. Nice is a good word for it. Sabal doesn’t seem too  bent on enjoying it, is all.

“But I guess it’s worth it, even though he has me running around in the woods in the middle of a civil war,” Ajay laughs to himself.

“Hmm?” Sabal acknowledges with divided attention. “How’s that?”

“The stuff he designed…it’s gaudy as hell, but it’s _good_. Functional. You could sell the patent to a hunting equipment brand and make a fortune.”

Somehow, this gets Sabal’s attention when talking about monster tigers didn’t. “How gaudy could an ammunition bag—” Ajay holds up the offending pack before the man can finish his question. “Oh. …leopard print?”

Ajay laughs at how incredulous Sabal sounds, a grin showing all his teeth, and tosses the ugly thing back under the table. When he looks back up, Sabal’s eyes dart away, returning to the map.

“You said the man was named Mr. Chiffon, is that right?”

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“The Royal Tailor, at one time.” Sabal meets his eyes once more, and his face has turned too serious for this lovely afternoon. Too stern for what was supposed to be a funny story. _God dammit, Ajay_. “Are you certain it’s safe for him to know your activities and whereabouts like this?”

Ajay rubs the back of his head. “I mean no, I can’t guarantee it. But, he said Pagan tried to have him killed. Guess they had creative differences, or something.”

“Or so we have all heard. But that could easily be a cover story, brother.” _Now_ Ajay wishes he would look back to his map. Wishes he would be distracted from the topic so they can get back to having an easy afternoon.

“Right,” Ajay allows gently. “It could be. Hard to know who to trust. But he seemed pretty…sincere.”

“Oh? How so?”

He huffs a laugh at the memory. “Well he called me ‘Adonis,’ for one thing.”

Sabal inhales sharply. When Ajay looks at him, he finds his shoulders have tensed. Hands curled in fists.

“And what else?”

Shit. This is sudden, this temperature drop in the mood. Is it…a culture thing? Something else he hasn’t learned yet? He really doesn’t know the Kyrati views on homosexuality, but Sabal is as devout as they come, and if Ajay…

“He uh,” Ajay looks down at his hands. He knows he’s mumbling but he really wants the topic dropped, now. “He told me to be fierce. Said I was really ‘primal,’ or something. I don’t remember. Guess he thought the designs’d suit me.”

There is a long, long silence, filled only with the sounds of breathing.

“And how did that make you feel?”

What?

Ajay looks up and finds Sabal scrutinizing his face. There’s a line between his brows.  Something sharp about his mouth. It kind of…pisses Ajay off, actually.

“Always nice to get a compliment,” He says before he can help himself, leaning forward in his chair, “but he’s not my kind of man.”

There, it’s out. Or rather, _he’s_ out. To all of the Golden Path, probably, if he gives the rumor enough time to spread around. But the person he has to worry about most is the one in front of him—the one who is so set in his ideology and his vision of Kyrati tradition that maybe having the face of his rebellion be a _gay_ —

“I must admit he’s not the sort of man I prefer, either.”

A pause. “What?” He said it so quietly, Ajay must have misheard.

Sabal turns away, going to the window, ostensibly looking out over the airstrip. His shoulders are still so so tense, his back unnaturally rigid. “But if I were to admit it, I would say his _taste_ is accurate enough.”

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

“You like his designs after all, then?” Ajay’s laugh sounds so fake even to his own ears.

He sighs, and his voice sounds guarded when he replies. “Ajay…you know that isn’t what I mean.”

Sabal turns and again his eyes look like they’re searching for something. Searching for a sign, he guesses.

Fuck.

“I know,” he says. Gentle, trying not to spook the guy. But, really, it’s _himself_ he should be worried about spooking—he’s felt inadequate since he got to Kyrat, _especially_ in front of Sabal. He’s not the hero that people want the Son of Mohan to be, he can’t speak Kyrati or even read their alphabet, and he’s just ignorant about _so much_. He knows there’s stuff about the culture, the beliefs, that he gets wrong all the time and people are just too polite to correct him. And, of course, the normal insecurities that would come up even if he _wasn’t_ the Chosen One helping fight a civil war. Because Sabal is—

“Brother. I’m…” His face looks…wary.

_No, no._

“I’m sorry if that was unwelcome.”

_God, Ajay’s been an idiot._

He’s shaking his head, stepping around the table. “Please know that it changes nothing, I admire you first and foremost as a comrade, a brother-in-arms, part of—”

His breath leaves him in a humid rush, warm against Ajay’s mouth as he presses into the kiss. Ajay feels the contact lighting up his nerves like fire, buzzing in his chest, like every cell in his body has a connection straight to where he touches Sabal.

Ajay gives himself one moment to just _feel_ it. One moment, that’s it. Breathing in the lingering scent of incense and cooking spices and sweat. There’s no cologne up here in the roof of the world, but it’s the feeling of Sabal that turns Ajay’s head every time the man enters a room.

And then Ajay makes himself pull away, because Sabal hasn’t responded at all, and he’s not an asshole.

“Brother…” Looking at his face _again_. What is he _looking for_? “Please don’t do this just because it’s what _I_ want.”

Oh _for_ _fuck’s sake_.

Ajay grabs him by the arms and yanks. Moves again to his mouth, biting at his lips and not hiding how heavy his breath is coming.

Sabal’s arms are tense under Ajay’s grip. Ajay digs his thumbs in, and pulls his chest flush with the other man’s. Presses his thigh between Sabal’s—not high enough to provide friction for anything, but an invitation for it. If Sabal thinks Ajay is kissing him out of _pity_ or some shit…

“You,” Sabal hisses against his teeth, “have been gay _this entire time_ —”

Relief wells up out of Ajay in a laugh. “Guilty,” he pants. Their noses are pressed together. The light is filtering in from the window, lighting one of Sabal’s eyes like amber and leaving the other in shadow. Ajay takes the opportunity to drink it all in. God, he’s beautiful. It hurts a bit. “Is that…okay?”

Sabal draws back, and Ajay feels his breath catch with anxiety for a second until he realizes that the man is looking meaningfully at all the points of contact between their bodies. “I suppose it has to be,” he teases. When Ajay doesn’t respond, he frowns and draws back a little more. “Are you worried about how Kyra perceives this?”

“Uh…yeah,” he says. After all, Kyra’s opinion is Sabal’s opinion for these kinds of things.

Sabal sighs. Rubs his hand over his face. Ajay decides it’s a good moment to give him some space. “You are not wrong to worry. Our scriptures prohibit ‘immoral sexual conduct,’ but do not specify what it means, though they do refer to ‘unnatural acts,’ among a few other things. Many would say that a…partnership…which cannot produce children would clearly fall into that category.”

“’Many’ would say,” Ajay repeats.

“Many, but not me, brother. Clearly not. I have read the evidence, I know it is found in nature.”

Ajay feels something inside him relax, something he didn’t know was tensed like it was ready to be struck.

He lets out a breath. “Alright, then. So we’re good.” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question, but…it is one. He wants them to be good. Ideally, he wants them to be much more than good. But he will definitely even settle for just…good.

“We are, but where do we stand?”

“I’m not running off to Mr. Chiffon, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Sabal’s face scrunches into a grimace, probably at that image, and it makes Ajay start huffing out laughs he can’t hold down.

Yeah, they’ll be more than good. 


End file.
